


The Dragon And The Kiss Of Love

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Character Death, Crack Treated Seriously, Curses, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dragon Sherlock Holmes, Dragon!Lock, Fairy Tale Style, Inspired By The Movie "Maleficent", M/M, Maneating, No Eurus Holmes, Sibling Incest, Virgin Mycroft Holmes, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, dark humour, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: A lost invitation card leads to a vicious curse. Only a kiss can make it undone. But who will kiss a dragon?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Character deaths! Not just one! As the main characters are Mycroft and Sherlock, I won't tag it with "major character death" but still. This is a story that is highly angsty and maliciously funny (I hope). I also included several quotes of the show and I truly hope this will be entertaining for you.
> 
> I totally picture "Malicia" looking like the awesome Angelina Jolie in "Maleficent" (without the horns and the wings). If you haven't watched this movie - I totally recommend it.
> 
> This story was also inspired by conversations in the comment section with SlytherinsDragon and sherlock221Bismymuse.

### The Curse

Once upon a time there lived a king who ruled over the beautiful kingdom of Brictoria. King Siger was respected and admired by his people as he was always kind and fair to everybody. His lovely wife Violet was always by his side, and they loved each other dearly.

They had a son with serious eyes and raven black hair. Prince Mycroft was a calm and shy boy who had his chamber covered in books, and he was a sweet child who was never rude to the maids and whenever he found an injured animal, he would take it home to nurse it until it could return to its natural environment, and he let them go with tears in his eyes because he had grown to love them but on the other hand he was happy to have been able to heal them.

These were happy times for the people in the huge castle and all the people in the kingdom. Long gone were the dark days of war and hunger, and everybody had enough to eat and people treated each other kindly. Humans lived together with elves and dwarves and even witches, and if there were confrontations, they were worked upon until the opponents could look each other in the eyes and shake hands, and it was an era of peace.

And then Queen Violet invited all the important people of the kingdom into the castle to have a celebration for the king's fortieth birthday.

But one richly decorated invitation card got lost, and for all the bad luck, it had been meant for one of the queen's sisters, and she had always envied Violet for marrying the king, and she got very upset and nasty when she heard about the feast she had allegedly not been invited to.

An upset highborn woman would have been bad enough but this particular woman, her name was Malicia, had dark powers. Violet had come from a family famous for its women of magic, and while Violet hardly had any of it, Malicia's powers were legendary.

Over the weeks she had got angrier and angrier about not having been invited, and when the day of the feast had finally arrived, she hurried to the castle with wrath in her heart and fury in her eyes.

Violet, who had no idea that her sister's invitation had not reached her, welcomed her with open arms but Malicia did not listen to the warm greeting.

“You didn’t want me here,” she accused, and Violet shook her head in wonder.

“But that's not true! I wrote the card for you myself.”

“I don't believe you.” Malicia, dressed in black from head to toe, looked around in the glorious castle with all the gold and the diamonds, and her jealousy and anger grew even stronger. “I curse you!” she thundered. “A son will be born to you, and he will be beautiful and lovely and everybody will adore him. But on his sixteenth birthday, at noon, he will turn into a dragon with a black heart and hunger for human flesh!”

“But Malicia! What have we done to you!” But Violet knew it, knew about her older sister's endless envy, and she could see in her sister's triumphant eyes that she wouldn’t take the curse back. “Every curse must come with a possibility of being undone!” she argued, trying to get at least that much in her shock and horror. She didn’t know a lot about curses but everybody knew this rule. There always had to be a way out, as difficult as it may be.

“Oh, sure. True love's kiss can reverse him into a man!” Malicia giggled gleefully. “But the love must come deep from the heart and the kiss must be given to the dragon when he's awake and aware, and of course it must be a kiss like lovers share it. Good luck with that!”

Yes, good luck indeed. Because who would dare kiss a dragon?

### The Boy

And nine months later, a son was born to King Siger and Queen Violet, and he was the most beautiful baby anyone had ever seen, with black curls and large blue-green eyes and a finely shaped mouth and a smile to brighten the darkest day, and everybody who saw him fell for him at once, and this didn’t cease when he got older; he was the smart, cheeky, curious boy with the heart of gold, and nobody could resist his charms.

He was best friends with John, the groom's son, and Greg, son of the head of the royal guard. And Molly, the gardener's daughter, took a deep liking to him, and he was the pride of old Mrs Hudson, the cook.

But nobody loved him more than his big brother Mycroft. He had an ocean of love for his little brother, and he needed and possessed a realm of patience for his never-ending questions.

_“What is this bug called, Mycie?”_

_“How old is this tree?”_

_“Why can't we look into the sun?”_

And Mycroft always answered him as well as he could and happily shared all his considerable knowledge with his brother, and their seven-year age-gap seemed to vanish more and more.

And Mycroft's fear grew stronger and stronger the older Sherlock got. During the afternoon, when he and Sherlock were outside after his studies, he could pretend nothing was wrong and his brother had a bright future ahead. But at night, when Sherlock's head rested on his chest as he was sleeping full of trust in his big brother, he was drawn into the darkness of the bitter prospect. Because of course the older brother knew about the curse; everybody in the castle had been talking about it since it had been uttered.

The servants often answered Sherlock's questions about gardening and horses and cooking, and when he turned, they would say, “The poor, lovely boy – he doesn’t deserve his fate.”

It was only a matter of time until Sherlock himself understood what he was destined for. And he would come to Mycroft of course. “Is it true? Will I become a dragon?”

Mycroft felt his heart grow cold. “I… I think so.”

“But I don't want to!”

“No, Lockie. Nobody wants that.” If he just could have, he would have strangled that old witch to death for doing this to his little brother! He had not done anything wrong! Nobody had, in fact!

And Sherlock shook his head vehemently. “I will just not. I'm no nasty old dragon who eats people!” In fact Sherlock refused to eat any living creature, just like his brother. He helped him now nursing the orphaned or injured animals back to health.

And Mycroft thought if love and determination alone could prevent Sherlock from his fate, it would never come true. But he knew it wouldn’t be so easy… And he knew Sherlock's loss would break his heart.

*****

“What if I'd go away with him?”

Queen Violet looked her eldest into the eyes and her own were full of tears. It was two months before Sherlock's sixteenth birthday. “Oh, my dear, dear boy. It wouldn’t help. He would change anyway and he wouldn't know you anymore and just… We need you here, Mycroft. You're the future king.”

Mycroft was well aware of this honour and burden but he would have gladly given it away to save Sherlock from his fate. “It's not fair,” he mumbled, feeling beaten and stupid. _Of course_ it wasn't fair. But that wouldn’t change a thing…

Violet had begged and begged her sister to take back the curse. But Malicia had not even listened, too glad she had been able to destroy her little sister's perfect life. The king had threatened her but she had just laughed and said he should be careful – she might still curse Mycroft to be a frog and put him into her soup.

So nothing could be done about Sherlock turning into a dragon, and in the end preparations had to be made. He couldn’t stay in the castle on this day – he had to be brought away to the mountain, where a huge natural cave would be his new home. They could have brought him further away but Violet knew her sister would call him back to the kingdom then. Malicia was determined to make her life absolutely miserable and she would do all she could to achieve this goal.

But there was a way out after all. So Sherlock wouldn’t go up there alone. Someone had volunteered to be there when he changed and hopefully be able to turn him back instantly.

*****

Mycroft was the closest person to Sherlock but as mentioned before, he also had three very good friends. John Watson, the son and helper of the groom, was by his side whenever Sherlock was running through the stables, making friends with all the horses. They had had many adventures together while Mycroft was being educated to become the future king. Often they were accompanied by Greg Lestrade, the soon-to-be head of the guard as he would follow into his father's footsteps; he was already serving among the men who protected king and castle. Both brave young men, both of them a few years older than Sherlock, adored him and were very worried about his future.

And there was Molly Hooper, the kind, soft daughter of the old gardener, who knew every flower by its name. With her big dark eyes and her flowing dark hair she was a pretty maiden, and Sherlock was very fond of her.

He didn’t really know what to do though when she took his hand and looked up to him in this particular way. It made him feel rather uncomfortable. He didn’t feel like this. She was like a sister to him; they were almost the same age. He did love her but not in any romantic way.

But Violet knew Molly was head over heels in love with Sherlock. Mycroft knew it, too, and whenever he saw them together, he felt a strange sting. But of course it was good, wasn’t it? Molly loved Sherlock in the right way and she wasn't a silly thing – she knew what was at stake and she could be the one to save Sherlock, and save everybody from the dark dragon he was about to become.

And she had offered it herself – staying with Sherlock when he changed, and kiss him at once so the curse would stop before it really had begun.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” her mother said to her on the day before. “You may not hesitate. You must kiss him and he will not look like this anymore!”

Fifteen-year-old Sherlock was a sight to behold with his dark curls, his high cheekbones and a mouth that made so many girls (and more than a few boys) dream of kissing it.

Molly nodded vehemently. “I know, and I will. And then he will marry me!”

Her mother smiled sadly. “I hope you're right, my love. I hope you're right.”

*****

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock slept for a single moment in this night. Entwined, they had been lying on Mycroft's bed, Sherlock's head nuzzled against Mycroft's throat, both silent in at the prospect of an imminent, inevitable threat.

At midnight Mycroft pressed his brother closer, but he didn’t bring any congratulation over his lips. What sense would that have made? _'Happy birthday and good luck with being a dragon'_?

Still Mycroft had the tiny hope that this all had been nothing but a cruel prank. That at noon nothing would happen.

And the worst thing was that he couldn’t even go with Sherlock. His father had forbidden it and Mycroft knew very well why. He was supposed to be the king and he would have to be rather sooner than later. The worries about his younger son had weakened the king's health. He wasn’t a strong man anymore, walking with his back bent whenever nobody outside the family was around. He had been coughing a lot lately and his face looked sickly pale. And the kingdom needed a ruler so they couldn’t risk Mycroft going with Sherlock.

“It's so stupid,” Sherlock mumbled now while the sun was rising. “As if I'd ever do anything to you! You are the very last person I'd harm!”

“I know, little brother,” Mycroft whispered soothingly but in fact he could know no such thing, and neither could his little brother as Sherlock wouldn’t be Sherlock anymore in just a few hours.

His mind produced images of the past sixteen years he had been allowed to spend with the brother he loved so much it hurt. He had taught him to speak, to walk, to read, to calculate. He had been there when Sherlock had hurt his knees or cried over an animal they couldn’t save. When Sherlock had got older, he had taught him how to dance and to be polite even when he was surrounded by annoying people (and frankly, most of the highborn people were _very_ annoying). Sherlock was his one and only. And lately… he had noticed how handsome he really was. How wonderful. And there had been a strange stirring in him when Sherlock was pressed against him at night, and a part of his body had shown unwelcome movements, but he had forced _it_ down with his strong will. It was just a biological reaction after all… Nothing unusual about it but shameful nonetheless.

And today he would lose his brother if there was no miracle.

Mycroft didn’t believe in miracles. He believed in hard work and duty and giving your best and then God may help you if you were lucky. But there were no miracles. And so he would wait with his mother and father and John and Greg and Mrs Hudson if Sherlock would return after receiving the saving kiss from Molly, and then he would have to take her as his wife. And as much as this thought was awful to Mycroft, he could only hope for it as it would mean his brother would regain his human shape, and Sherlock's luck had always been the most important matter to him – besides his destined position.

But something told Mycroft neither Sherlock as he knew him nor Molly would make it back from the mountain…

*****

There was so much to say and there were no words in his head. Mycroft watched his brother slip into his coat, as the day was cold. Molly Hooper was standing next to him, in her best dress, shivering from the cold, with pink cheeks, looking terrified and excited.

The queen and the king were placed on either sides of Mycroft, and his mother was crying silent tears, while her husband's face was stoic and frozen.

“Good luck, son,” he said in his deep voice. “Show us how strong you are. Try to fight the change and if it still happens, fight back into your human form. You must try as hard as you can!”

Sherlock nodded, his face pale and full of horror, and it broke Mycroft's heart. “I will,” he whispered, and he didn’t sound strong at all; in fact he sounded like a little boy on his way to his execution for a crime he had not committed.

And he was, wasn't he? If everything worked like predicted, he would never see his home again. He would only return to hunt and to kill, and they would fight him and Mycroft would _die_ if they killed him, and he would kill anybody who tried to harm the brother he cared for so deeply, no matter if human or dragon.

Greg and John were standing a few metres away, and then Sherlock ran to them and embraced them, and they both cried – the tall, dark-eyed, fearless Greg in his guard-uniform and John, the short, stocky young man with the messy blond hair and the serious blue eyes, all muscles and bravery. They both wept for their best friend they feared to never see again. Mrs Hudson had bidden him goodbye in the kitchen, crying her eyes out now that he couldn’t see her anymore.

And then Sherlock and Mycroft locked eyes, and it was only his strict education that kept Mycroft from bursting into tears. This was the worst moment of his life and his heart crumbled to pieces when he saw the fear and the pain in Sherlock's eyes. A harder man than him would have thought that caring so much for him wasn't an advantage but he did and he would never stop.

Not caring what his father was thinking, Mycroft bent forward to take Sherlock into his arms one last time, and they stood there and clung to each other until King Siger told them, surprisingly softly, to part so Sherlock and Molly could leave.

And Sherlock, having Molly by the hand, turned around again and again until they were out of sight.

Mycroft stood there, frozen at the spot, staring at the point where Sherlock had disappeared and he winced when his mother laid her hand on his arm and told him to go inside.

“All we can do now is wait. And pray for their safe return,” she quietly said, and Mycroft could hear she had no hope to ever see her boy again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be dragons...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may remind you again: here be also dead people. And black humour. Enjoy if you dare! :)

### The Transformation

“We should make a fire,” Molly mumbled, freezing in her too-thin dress in the cold wind. She looked around on the wide plateau with its spare vegetation. And the large cave opening that would lead to Sherlock's new home if things went wrong. But of course they wouldn’t! They just couldn’t!

Sherlock thought that very soon he would be able to make fire with just breathing out but he didn’t say it. He just nodded and thought of Mycroft. He _always_ thought of Mycroft. Mycie. His Mycie. Who had been there for him from the day he was born and on every day after. And now he couldn’t be here with him. Sherlock knew why and he understood but still it killed him.

 _'If_ he _kissed me, I would turn back into a man the next instant',_ shot through his mind and he blushed. But of course this was not possible. A brotherly kiss was not what his crazy aunt had meant with 'true love's kiss'. Fleetingly he thought, _'And it's not what_ I _meant, either'_ and then he could feel something… very weird appearing to move in him; it felt as if he had swallowed a large, living creature that now turned in his stomach, only that the feeling wasn’t limited to his stomach. It spread out into his limbs, his throat, his brain…

“It's almost noon,” Molly said innocently. “It won't even happen, will it?” She sounded rather disappointed. Of course – she would only ever get to kiss Sherlock if he really turned into a dragon…

He didn’t answer. He was sweating now. His hair seemed to stand on end. His fingers were cramping.

“Oh. Oh _God_ …”

Well, she _had_ noticed after all… “Run,” he rasped out. He remembered all the good times they'd had but the memories of days in the sun and laughter and tickling each other with grass were starting to blur already.

“No! I will kiss you and save you because I love you!”

 _But I don't love you…_ Strange… He had never thought about this. Did the dragon have to have loved the person who kissed him while he still had been a human? Or did only the person who delivered the kiss had to love him?

But it didn’t matter, did it? Because the dragon wouldn't remember anything of his previous life. Or would he? Would someone as smart as Sherlock be able to connect with his human memory? Mycroft had helped him build a mind palace to store all the knowledge he had collected over the years. Would he be able to go back into it and find all the fond memories? Would that even help?

Molly screamed and Sherlock realised his hands had changed into claws. And then his trousers exploded from his body as his legs and torso grew bigger, and Molly glanced at what was revealed – and at the same moment got covered by large scales that shimmered like silver. His teeth grew longer and his face, oh God, his _face_! It felt as if his skin was ripped from his skull!

And then there was a light that blinded him, then darkness, and then all thoughts vanished in pain and dizziness and - hunger.

*****

Molly was standing in front of the dragon, the monster that had only a minute ago been her best friend Sherlock, the man she had loved and wanted to marry. The dragon was huge and black and silvery, with predatory teeth and long claws and horns and a thick tale that curled around his massive legs, and he was hovering on all fours and his head turned to her, and his eyes had the same colour as Sherlock's – blue and green – but there was nothing left of his warmth; they were cold and mean and stared at her in a way that made her insides turn to ice.

And God – his wings! They were large and black and leathery. And he smelled… The smell was strong and disgusting and inhuman; the smell of a beast, wild and sickening.

Her first instinct was to turn and run away, but no! She couldn't! She had to save him and the kingdom for this was a true monster that would not stay in its cave and be nice and quiet; all the insane predictions had all come true.

So instead of fleeing from the mountain, which would have probably been pointless anyway because he had _wings_ , she made two steps towards him. She would kiss this stinking snout and deliver him from being this awful creature and everything would be fine.

And the next moment he bit her head off and ate her, and he purred at the delicious taste of human flesh.

**Meanwhile In The Castle**

“He'll come back, with Molly,” John mumbled into his hot chocolate. “He's _Sherlock_! He's so smart! He knows everything! He'll find a way.”

Mrs Hudson shared a look with Greg. The young man shrugged, his dark, soulful eyes looking deeply sad. His hand was wrapped around his cup but he didn’t drink, knowing that not even Mrs Hudson's famous hot chocolate could ease the pain he was feeling.

She patted John's hand. “Yes, dear. If anyone finds a way, it's Sherlock.” And this sentence really said it all.

She was an old woman and she had heard a lot of stories about dragons in her long life, and as a child, when there had still been many dragons, she had seen them flying high over the village she had grown up in. She had never seen one from eye to eye; otherwise she wouldn’t be here and cook for the king and the queen, but she had seen drawings of nasty, terrifying creatures with fiery eyes and black wings.

The sheer thought that her dear boy Sherlock could end up like this… It was horrible.

*****

Queen Violet and King Siger were sitting in their living room by the fire, but none of them felt warm. They knew all-too-well that with every minute that passed it got more improbable that they would see their boy again. And neither of them had had much hope to begin with.

Violet knew she should have kept sweet, naïve Molly from going with Sherlock. How should this girl know how to face a dragon? And her silly crush on Sherlock wasn't love. Not in the right way. They had grown up like siblings and that was the affection that Sherlock was feeling for her. Nothing less, nothing more. And she was sure he had never encouraged her. Perhaps that had been short-sighted. But then you can't force love! If he had loved her like a man loved a woman, desiring her with every fibre of his being, perhaps she would have managed to get through to him.

As things were, she would have already ended in his stomach…

Violet did feel bad about it but as it had been a tiny chance, she couldn’t have kept her from accompanying him.

“It's getting dark,” the king mumbled, and finally she started to cry.

He took her hand but he didn’t say a word because there was no comfort for their loss.

*****

Mycroft was standing on the balcony from which he could look far over the country. He hardly blinked. He didn’t move. He didn’t pray.

With every minute that passed his heart grew heavier and his soul was torn wider apart. He had lost his little brother.

Never again they would ride out side by side. Never again Sherlock would sleep draped all over him. Never again would he smile at him with these beautiful lips and these bright eyes.

He should have taken him and run! As far as possible! Perhaps if they had just been far enough away, the curse would have stopped working!

In this moment he cursed his own destiny that forced him to become the king. He should have chosen Sherlock over this.

But deep in his heart he knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Sherlock would have become a dragon nonetheless.

And then, in the fading light of sunset, he saw him. Up on the mountain, a shadow was wheeling. A large shadow with wide wings and a long tail. Mycroft stared and stared at it and only minutes later he realised he was crying hot tears of pain and loss.

### John And The Dragon

“I'm going.” John's voice was firm and determined.

“I forbid it, son,” his father said. The royal groom was a tall man who was holding himself very straight. Always had, even when he had lost his wife during giving birth to his daughter, Harriet, who had only lived for two days. He had always worked hard for his king and there was nothing he didn’t know about horses.

But perhaps he knew a little less about his only son and his friendship with the young prince.

“I owe it to him. I must try!”

Jonathan Watson laughed. “And what are you going to do? Kiss the dragon? Is there something I should know about you and Prince Sherlock?”

“I'm not gay!” John thundered, his cheeks flushing. He had a girlfriend after all! Mary, the blonde nurse he had met during a visit in the village. He visited her whenever he had time in the evenings – very discreetly so her rather strict parents didn’t get to know she had an admirer. “But I love him anyway! He's my best friend!”

The older man sighed. “I know you're missing him. But there's nothing you can do to save him. Or the poor girls he took…”

John swallowed. Nobody had ever seen Molly again after last week. And nobody had dared go up to the cave and look for possible… remains… And then the dragon had eaten another young girl a day ago. Her name had been Janine, the daughter of a teacher. She had been dark-eyed and full of life, their inconsolable parents had said to the king. And now she had served as food for a hungry dragon…

John hated the thought of Sherlock hunting down girls. And not only because of their fate. Sherlock had been so soft and kind; he hadn't even eaten the meat of a chicken! If he just knew what he was doing now, he would be terrified. But it only proved that there was nothing left of Sherlock. At least not in his conscious. But deep inside… It couldn’t all be gone!

“You must see it's hopeless,” his father insisted. “One day he will get caught when he hunts again. And they will cut his head off.”

“Never! I will not have it!” He was never insolent towards his father, but the sheer thought of Sherlock being beheaded…

“Oh, you do have a temper, boy. But that's the only way to deal with a dragon. Except if you really want to kiss him but I don't think his aunt meant that kind of… love.” Even speaking the word out seemed to give the decent man a foul taste in his mouth.

But John wouldn’t let it be. He would go up there and speak with Sherlock and even kiss him if necessary. He would try to save him, even if it was the very last thing he would do!

*****

“I'll come with you.”

John shook his head. “No way. It either works or… it doesn’t. No point in having us both killed, Greg.”

Greg nodded, biting his lip. “This is like a bad dream, isn’t it? Dragons… It's so… archaic.”

“Yeah. They should have burnt that witch. Perhaps the curse would have died with her…”

“Doesn't work like this. They have tried in previous times. But the witch’s death didn’t change anything about the fulfilment of the curse.”

Greg was so smart! If he said so, it was true. And of course if it had been so easy, the king would have done it anyway, and he doubted that Queen Violet would have minded seeing her sister dead if she could have kept her son instead. As gentle as she was, she would have probably clapped her hands while it was being done…

John shrugged. “Well then. Off to the mountain.” It was a bright, sunny day, rather warm for the time of year. Beautiful day to save your best friend or die trying. And John was well aware the bets were against him…

“Good luck, my friend.” Greg put his hand onto his shoulder. He tried not to cry but he was sure he would never see his brave friend again. He would have become a great groom. Hell, he could have even become a famous fighter! And he was smart enough to be… a doctor or something! And now…

“I have to do it, Greg. If anyone can get through to him…”

“Yes. Remind him of the good old days.”

That was John's plan. And damn – he would even _kiss_ the sodding dragon if it only brought Sherlock back! It was horrible to see his brother suffer! Of course he didn’t show it openly but his eyes had become steely and hard, his back was too stiff, and he didn’t look at anyone anymore. His mother's eyes were constantly red, and the king's health had been going down the hill more and more. And the girls he was hunting! This all was a bloody mess. Someone had to make another try!

*****

Damn foot! Damn sodding rock! Not watching his way in his anxiety, John had stumbled and fell and hurt his right foot. Perhaps it was even broken. And he had also hurt his shoulder when he had fallen. But he kept on walking, using a thick branch to stabilize his leg. The way was steep and long, and his heart beat too fast when he finally reached the plateau of the mountain.

And there was the cave... No sign of the dragon, but John had seen it flying around earlier. He wondered what Sherlock was eating if he didn't catch a young woman. Why women anyway? Sherlock wasn't fond of women. He had asked him once, when they had been sitting by the fire together, if he wanted to have a girlfriend, meaning Molly without speaking it out, and Sherlock had said that girlfriends were not his area. John had nodded and not asked any further, not wanting to embarrass his friend.

Men loving men – it was not forbidden in the kingdom but people talked about men who walked hand in hand and showed their affection for each other. John wouldn't have minded if Sherlock liked boys. It was all fine!

Perhaps he chose to kill and eat women now because he wasn't that fond of them... Or their flesh was... tastier... John got sick at the thought.

He had almost reached the cave with slow, heavy steps. So far he was all alone.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then he cleared his throat. "Sherlock!" he yelled, still from a distance of about twenty metres from the cave. He wondered if the dragon would even recognise his own name. What did Sherlock recall? He could only hope that he deep inside had kept his memories because if not... Well, he was a man after all and probably tasted bad. But he wasn't here to back away! He was here to save Sherlock!

And then a head appeared in the dark opening of the cave and a shocked groan escaped John’s throat. “Oh holy freaking…”

Of course he should have expected the sight. He _knew_ Sherlock had turned into a dragon! But perhaps it was the human and decidedly female leg that was hanging out of his mouth/snout that was so shocking… apart from the darkness and the size and the teeth and these fiery eyes…

*****

Who had come? Who was disturbing him? Was he even a 'him'? Why was he thinking? Dragons didn’t think. He thought so at least…

Everything was a blur. At night or when he rested after a meal, the dreams came. Dreams of a huge building and warmth and people and laughter and joy. When he woke up, all that was left of these disturbing dreams was a roaring headache.

Why couldn’t he remember anything of himself as a baby dragon? Why didn’t he recall his first flight or first animal or human he'd been hunting? He just seemed to have started existing like he was now. And why was he even thinking about that? Dragons didn’t think or remember. Or did they?

His head was hammering from all the nasty thinking that couldn’t even be thinking because… Well…

On the first day when he had obviously popped into existence he had seen clothes in front of his cave. Men's clothes. A coat. He didn’t know how he knew that but he did. Had he eaten a man? He couldn’t remember. Men were dangerous. More than these long-haired specimen, obviously females then. They screamed but they were easy to hunt. Three he'd had, he guessed. He didn’t have to eat often. One was sufficient for a few days.

And now he'd just been having the third one for his meal in the depths of his cave and then this tiny human had come and shouted something. Why had he come? Was he mad? Nobody came to the cave of a dragon! At least not alone and without being heavily armed! He didn’t know why he knew all this but he did.

There was something… something familiar about this male human. Who did carry a weapon after all! A large branch! He wanted to beat him with a _branch_? _Kill_ him with it even? Yes – he had to be mad.

Slowly the dragon walked out of his cave, the last remaining part of his tasty prey still in his mouth, steam coming out of his nostrils.

*****

John's heart was beating so fast that he almost expected it to explode out of his chest. My God! Why had he come here? Had he really thought he could do what – kiss this… _monster_ back into a man?

But he knew he had to pull himself together now. There was no way out. He couldn’t escape from this flying monstrosity that had been his best friend. Especially not with an injured leg and a hurting shoulder. He had to try. He had to try to talk him out of eating him…

“Um… Hello… I'm John! John Watson! I'm your best friend!”

 _[_ _I don't have friends...]_

Damn! Had the dragon just spoken? Or had he heard this bitter statement in his head?! The dragon was still keeping this nasty leg in his mouth! But it had been Sherlock's voice.

“You do, actually! Me and Greg and Mrs Hudson and… well, Molly, before you… I know you didn’t mean to… eat her. God, kiss me, Sherlock!”

*****

He didn’t understand what was going on here, why this brave _(and wasn't brave the kindest word for stupidity and where had this thought come from now?)_ little man was now stalking towards him, the branch in his hand. And what was a kiss? And had he really spoken? If not, how could this little man know what he had, well, thought?

He opened his mouth and the leg fell out of it, and he welcomed the so familiar smelling little man with a shot of fire out of his mouth. He lost the leg and this… _John_ _(and didn’t that name ring a bell and why was he thinking about ringing bells?)_ was still too far away to be seriously burnt. It was more a warning and he had no idea why.

*****

John could feel the heat in his face, not hot enough to burn his skin for real but damn, it made his hair stand up. He stopped and looked into the eyes of the dragon, and he saw Sherlock's beautiful blue-green eyes, just much bigger and somehow… angular, and then he glanced at the thing that had fallen out of his mouth and he grimaced. A female leg with…

 _My God…_ This scar! There was a scar above the knee! A scar he knew. He had touched it.

“You killed _Mary_!” he yelled. “No! You _monster_!”

And he stormed forward to the dragon, ignoring the pain in his foot, and he swung the branch he had used for walking.

His attack was rather short-lived, and so was he.

*****

He didn’t know why he was feeling unhappy. As if he'd done something… a bit not good. On the other hand though… The dragon ripped out a piece of flesh from the loin of the now headless man. He chewed on it with a thoughtful look. A bit stringier than the other humans he had had but tasty, too!

Why was he feeling… He didn’t know the word but it was only just out of his reach. It was stupid though, feeling… whatever. He had defended himself after all! This John-man had almost stuck the branch into his eye! A blind dragon was a dead dragon! He wouldn’t have been able to fly with just one eye. And without flying, there would have been no hunting. No hunting would have meant no food.

Well, he had enough meat for a while now. He would keep this unexpected supply in his cave until he was hungry again.

He gobbled down the leg of his previous prey. It was too delicious to waste and the sound of the breaking bones was somehow… funny. And then he picked up the remains of the headless human and carried him into the cave to store it neatly. Meat. Nothing else than meat.

But the smell of this limp man – he reminded him of _home_ , and this thought was thoroughly disturbing...


	3. Chapter 3

### A Visit Home

"We knew this day would come. But I'd have never thought it would come so soon..."

King Mycroft nodded at his mother's quiet words. No, he wouldn't have expected – and even less desired – to be king with twenty-three years. Not that he felt so young. He felt as if he was eighty at least, too heavy were the burden and the pain.

King Siger had died two days ago. His heart had just stopped beating in his sleep. They had seen it coming, and still it had been a shock. Just another one. The doctors had done their best for him in the past weeks but the grief had sucked all life out of him.

Today Mycroft had been crowned. And he wondered when they would come to _him_ to demand that something had to be done against the dragon, who had now taken five young girls since he had changed a month ago. And who had killed and probably also eaten his best friend... The old groom, John's father, had left the court right after it had become clear that his son would never return. He had said to King Siger that they had to send an army to take care of the monster. But the king had not wanted to hear anything about it. _'All lives end'_ , he had just rather viciously told them when they had pointed out that the dragon wouldn’t stop hunting humans.

But Mycroft had known his sire well. Of course he had felt tremendously torn between his responsibilities as the king and being the father of this unfortunate creature that was a threat he just couldn’t have killed, and that had added to his demise.

And they would come back now that their king was young and inexperienced. And demand that he would have his own little brother killed. And Mycroft would never do that, even if Sherlock took the entire population of his kingdom... No. Not _Sherlock_. The dragon...

For weeks he had been flying over the castle frequently, far above so Mycroft couldn’t see him clearly, and never close enough so anyone could attack him against Mycroft's will.

But he seemed to be drawn back home now. Wasn't that a good sign? Perhaps he did remember something in the end!

"We need to go to the celebration," Queen Violet softly said. She had aged visibly since things had turned so sour, her body looking more fragile than ever. How long until she would follow her husband?

Mycroft didn't feel like celebrating in the least. But he had his obligations and he had to fulfil them. Now more than ever. And it would just be a small celebration with the people who lived in the castle. They had to be assured their king was capable of taking care of them…

*****

The dreams had become worse and worse. Dreams of happiness and comfort and a life that couldn’t have been his own; dreams the dragon woke from with suspicious wetness in his eyes.

And he just had to fly over this large, dark building again and again. He was drawn to it irresistibly, as if influenced by a power he couldn’t understand.

He had never landed there though. He knew people didn’t like him. A man had shown up a few days ago, shouting at him with desperate eyes, swinging a pitchfork. He had said something about his son and the dragon assumed he had seen the man in his… former life. Because there had to have been something. The dreams had to come from somewhere. But as soon as he tried to grasp this thought and trace it down, it vanished and left a disturbed, confused creature. Something was wrong with him. Seriously wrong.

In any way he had eaten the man after whipping the pitchfork out of his hand with his tail. He hadn't been exactly tasty but meat was meat. Spared him the effort of hunting. And it got harder and harder to get a female. As soon as he approached the village, doors were shut and large stones were thrown in his direction. None of the females still walked around in the forest. Of course he couldn’t land between the trees but he could wait for them on the other side. That's how he had caught most of them but probably he wouldn’t be so lucky again.

So he couldn’t waste the meat that had presented itself so easily. And he had caught some sheep but he hadn't really liked the taste. These creatures were so harmless and innocent. Innocent? What did that even mean? The dragon's head was hurting from thinking and these other nasty feelings.

In this night his dreams were clearer than ever. He saw a man, tall, with black hair and pale-blue eyes that looked at him with a lot of affection. This man loved him. Or at least he had loved him in this other life he only saw flashes from.

The dragon woke from this dream with a hammering heart and the strong wish to see this man. And there was not much question where he would find him.

**Two Hours Later In The Castle**

Mycroft was still feeling completely shaken when Mrs Hudson urged him to come into the kitchen. He vaguely registered that a cup with warm fluid was put into his hand.

It had happened so fast.

He started to shake, and the hot chocolate spilled over his hand. The cup was taken from it and put onto the table he was sitting at, and a warm hand stroked over his face. Nobody had touched him like this since…

His eyes, swimming in tears all at once, looked up to the old cook. “My God, Mrs Hudson. What shall I do?” He had seen his mother stumbling into her chamber, crying openly, and he hadn't been able to give her any comfort. And now he was seeking it from the other woman he had known since birth.

“My poor, poor boy. He came to see you.” She forewent all formalities and Mycroft was grateful for it.

Mycroft swallowed. “I know. Mother… She wouldn’t let me go out to him. If I just had…” He had felt so afraid that they could kill Sherlock after all, now that he'd come to the castle and threatened the entire court, but still he had just watched in terror from above, had seen the flames emerging from the large mouth of the creature that had once been his beloved little brother, and his mother, _their_ mother, had clung to him, weeping and shivering.

“She's afraid she'll lose you too. And the kingdom needs you desperately. I understand her fear.”

So did Mycroft but fear wouldn’t make anything better…

They both looked up when Greg came into the room with heavy steps. “My king,” he said, his eyes dark, his voice sad but not shaky.

“How many are dead?” For Mycroft had just been staring at Sherlock, hardly paying attention to the falling figures.

“Five, one  of them… taken. Two more will probably not survive the night.” The entire guard, apart from him.

Mycroft nodded, feeling his heart cramp. “I'm so sorry… And… thank you for sparing him...”

Greg smiled sadly. “My father was a very brave man. But I couldn’t let it happen. Not that I really believe he would have been able to kill Sherlock anyway. With a spear… He still _thinks_. I could see it in his eyes. He's not so easy to kill.” And he was rather sure the dragon had spoken or at least he had heard words in his head, spoken in a voice that was so similar to Sherlock's. Perhaps just his desperate imagination. But the voice had mockingly said, _'Don't hurt yourself with this weapon, old man.'_ He had sounded… amused… cold… dangerous.

Greg had been so close to trying it – close the distance and kiss him on this ghastly snout. But his breaking heart had told him he would only end up another dead member of the guard… He would never forget how that huge, dark creature had towered over him, eying him as if he'd almost remembered him, his father's blood dripping from his awful teeth.

The young king watched his brother's former friend (or more precise: his former brother's friend) closely. He had called the dragon 'Sherlock'. And he had chosen him over his own father. Had pushed him away when he had tried to attack the dragon. And the dragon had spared Greg. But he had attacked the rest of the guard and had taken the corpse of the youngest member with him when he had flown away, uninjured and puffing.

He had been flying over the castle for a while; Mycroft had watched him from the door of his balcony with his heart so heavy. And then the dragon had come closer and finally landed in the middle of the courtyard, and his mother had joined Mycroft, holding on to his arm, pleading him to stay with her. Mycroft had almost taken to shake her off and run down to face him, finally face him, but instead he had let her talk him out of it and had let his guard welcome his beloved baby brother who was now the most dangerous beast this kingdom had seen for ages.

“Will you stay?” he asked Greg now, his voice toneless. “Be the head of the guard?” The question was a bit odd as Greg was the only member for now…

“Of course, if you'll have me. I'll recruit some new men if you want me to.” Where else would he go? He had always been meant to take his father's position. It had happened way earlier than expected but that was exactly the same for the king.

Mycroft nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

Greg bowed. “I will take care of…” He broke off but it was clear enough. Corpses had to be cleared away after all, and the entire court was in shock.

Mycroft watched him go and then he finally sipped at his chocolate. It was delicious but he hardly tasted anything. “What shall I do? Please… I need your advice.” He had stayed away from everybody except for his mother over the past weeks, just talking when it was absolutely necessary. But he was completely helpless and this horrible last hour and Greg's bravery had woken him up from his pained numbness enough to finally realise he couldn’t let things just go on like this.

“I thought about going up there,” Mrs Hudson said slowly. “But the way is far and I'm old and my heart would probably give up before I'd even reached the mountain peak. I love your brother so much, Mycroft. May I still call you…?”

“Of course. Believe me I hardly feel like a king. And I know you can't go up there.”

She nodded. “And it wouldn’t help I guess. What should I do? Bring him tea or chocolate and ginger nuts? I love him like a grandchild but it's not the right kind of love. He would probably recognise me, as he did recognise Greg in some way obviously. He didn't kill him after all even though he killed all the others. But then Greg kept his father from hurting him so… In any way it didn’t change anything about him being a dangerous dragon and neither Greg nor I would get close enough for kissing him and even if we did… It's not the love your aunt was talking about…”

“It's hopeless. Nobody can give him this kiss that will save him…” Mycroft said, his soul darkened from pain and desperation.

“That's not true,” the old woman softly said. “There is one person in this world that can.” She had never mentioned it before, hoping desperately that there was another way to bring Sherlock back in the way he'd always been – a kind, wonderful human. Because what if it didn’t work?

There was no doubt whatsoever whom she was talking about. Mycroft shook his head. “You just said it's not the right kind of love.”

“But it is,” she whispered, and Mycroft paled and flushed at the same time.

He remembered the nights with the almost adult Sherlock. How he had reacted to him. And he recalled the fleeting moments when he had thought about Sherlock's mouth, and his beautiful eyes, and these cheekbones that felt so hard under his soft skin when he touched them… He had never even thought about taking any other man to bed and yes, it had been because there had never been anyone else for him than his own little brother. But how could she know that? He had suppressed and hidden these unexpected feelings even from himself! Relationships between siblings of the same sex were not forbidden in the kingdom but they were just not _done_.

“I've seen you grow up,” she said as if she had read his mind. “You've always loved him so much. And he you. But the last couple of months before… this happened… he started to look differently at you, and you at him. I'm sure neither of you ever put it in words or even admitted it to yourself…”

Mycroft's throat was completely dry now. “You're sure?” he rasped out. “About him feeling for me like this?” He didn’t deny his own feelings as there was really no point.

Mrs Hudson had been thinking about this for a long time now and yes, she was sure. But that still didn’t mean Mycroft would get close enough to the dragon to give him _the kiss_. “I am, my dear boy, my king. I've struggled with myself for so long about encouraging you to go up there. Because he could still kill you. He even killed John! But today – he came for you! He certainly doesn’t think like a human, but he does remember you deep in his heart. And he spared Greg. Perhaps his… human memory is growing stronger. Give him two more days and then… Oh, I will never forgive myself if he kills you, too…”

Mycroft's pulse was racing but a part of him felt very calm right now. “You're right. If anyone can reach him, it's me.” He knew he couldn’t say goodbye to his mother before he went up the mountain because she would never let him go. But he had to and if Sherlock ate him, well, the pain about his loss was already killing him slowly but steadily like it had killed his father. “I will go to him. In two days. Don't tell anybody.”

Mrs Hudson's heart was heavier than ever but she nodded. “I can feel it. You will save him. And then he will be yours.”

For a moment Mycroft imagined that vividly. How he would bring Sherlock home as his… husband? Now that would be a sight… The slight smile on his face died. It was much more probable that Sherlock would only have the vague feeling he might have known him and muse over how they might have met while he was gnawing at his bones…

He couldn’t go up there without a really good plan…

### The Dragon And The King

The dragon was moving in his sleep. He was dreaming again. He was landing on the large courtyard once more, and this time there were no men with spears and hateful faces. There was just one man, surrounded by light, and his eyes were soft, and the dragon recognised him as the man he had dreamt about before. And he slowly stalked over to him as if drawn by the brightness that was engulfing him, and then the man smiled maliciously and pulled a large knife out of his coat and…

He woke up, panting, steam shooting out of his nostrils. He didn’t move, and his heart was heavy. For two days he had been staying in his cave after eating that annoying young human who had tried to stab him. His stomach was satisfied so he didn’t have to go hunting. And he wondered why this dream had made him feel so… _(hopeless)_ weird. And why this other man on the courtyard, the real one with the large brown eyes, had seemed so familiar. And he had indeed protected him from the others.

And he had felt the presence of the man of this night's dream but he hadn't come to see him. Well, why would he? Everybody who had just a little brain would avoid meeting him. Humans either screamed and fled when they saw him (or probably any other dragon) or they tried to kill him. Apart from this man who had pushed the one with the spear pointing at him away.

The entire experience had confused him thoroughly and he had stayed in his cave so he wouldn’t be tempted to fly back to this building that was calling him.

_“Sherlock!”_

What was that? That word again! Coming from outside of his cave.

The dragon just sighed, more steam coming out of his nose. He didn’t want to fight again now. And he wasn't hungry. He was feeling sad and low and…

_“Sherlock! Lockie! It's me, Mycroft.”_

_Lockie?_ And what about that voice? Something seemed to pull at his… heart?

_“I'm not going away. Please… Come out.”_

_He's afraid. His voice is shaking. But he's also determined. This is important to him. I should go out and see what it's all about._ The dragon shook his head. This think-thing was really bothersome. Dragons should hunt and eat and sleep and be scary and leave the thinking to their favourite prey who could think about why they had been so stupid to come near a dragon when he ate them.

But finally he dragged himself to the entrance of the cave and poked his head out into the dawning day.

*****

It seemed to Mycroft as if his entire life had led to this point. And certainly the part of it after the damn curse indeed had. He regretted bitterly that he hadn't opposed his parents and gone here with Sherlock on his birthday. He shouldn’t have left his Lockie alone with this burden, only accompanied by a girl that could have never been his saviour.

He had left the castle on silent feet. Only Mrs Hudson knew he had gone up the mountain. And he wouldn’t go back alone. He would have Sherlock, the real Sherlock, by his side or he would die up here, and he had written a will that said Greg should be the next king if he failed. But failure was not an option.

The sight of the large head made his mouth go dry. He could see the dragon's suspicious eyes. But he also saw that he did remember him in a way he probably didn’t understand. And their colour, this amazing blue-green… So familiar and yet so foreign.

He took a deep breath. “Hello, Lockie. Do you know me?”

*****

The dragon was breathing hard now. This was the man he had dreamt about. The man whose presence he had felt when he had flown over the castle, and finally landed there.

The man he had just dreamt about hiding a knife to kill him…

_[Who are you? And I won't fall for your tricks.]_

The words echoed in his own head and he didn’t know if he had actually spoken them out. But apparently he'd had as the man had winced at the tone.

 _He's talking!_ _In some telepathic way!_ “I'm not here to trick you, Lockie. Please… Listen to me!”

The dragon conceded his plea. The man seemed serious enough. And a part of him wanted to trust him. But…

_[Take off that coat and show me you're not armed.]_

Mycroft hastily slipped out of his coat and just let it drop into the dirt. He pulled the pockets of his trousers out and turned around so the dragon could see he wasn't carrying any weapons. He hadn't even thought about bringing any. He wasn't here to fight or to harm.

Finally the dragon left his cave and slowly approached the man. He was tall and good-looking, the wind tousling his fine black hair. He looked serious but not exactly scared. Rather… desperate but nonetheless determined.

Mycroft tried not to show how much he was shivering, summoning all the calmness and strength he could find in himself. But the dragon was gigantic. These wings… He could probably break a man's back with just moving his wings… It was hard to not show his fear, facing this intimidating creature.

_[You said I should listen. Well then…]_

The dragon finally didn’t wonder anymore that he was thinking and obviously even speaking. In fact he had never thought clearer and had felt more awake since he had… appeared… Everything from before was still hidden in the darkness but in this moment he accepted that he was probably just not your everyday dragon…

Mycroft nodded heftily. “I want you to go into your mind palace.”

 _[I have no idea what you mean. Dragons don't have palaces. They have **caves**.]_ The dragon gave a pointed look over his shoulder.

“Close your eyes.”

The dragon snorted. He knew it had to be a trick!

“No, really! I swear I won't move! You will hear that at once anyway. And nobody came up here with me. You can see far enough. Nobody will be fast enough to creep up on you.”

The dragon looked around for a moment, seeing that he was right. He shrugged. And then he closed his eyes. Almost completely.

Mycroft saw he was still looking at him from under his heavy eyelids and exceptionally long lashes but that was all right. “Fine. And now… Just listen and follow me in your head.”

*****

And Mycroft led the dragon, led _Sherlock_ , to his mind palace they had built together. He showed him the castle and the animals they had nursed, their parents and his friends. And he showed him their love. Their innocent sibling love.

He was speaking calmly but firmly. He opened every door for Sherlock to look into. Showed him the books he had loved as a little boy. Reminded him of all they had done together.

And it worked. He could see the dragon relax and finally close his eyes completely.

But then he spoke again, and his tone was heart-breaking.

_[So I was your brother.]_

The dragon was close to crying. So that's where all the thinking had come from. He had been a _human_ … A happy, loved little human. And he had been cursed and now he was doomed to be a beast forever.

“No, Lockie. You still are. And I'm here to bring you home.”

The dragon opened his eyes and if he could have smiled sadly, he would have done it.

_[I doubt your people will be very happy about your new pet.]_

“No, Lockie. I will turn you back into a man. And… I'm the only one who can do it, because I… love you.” Mycroft had never said these words to anybody before. Not even to little Lockie even though he had shown him in his actions again and again which had made the words rather redundant. But now they were not. “I love you like no brother should probably love the other one. But I do. And I know you love me all the same.”

He stepped closer, and the ears of the dragon perked up. For all Mycroft had shown and told him, he looked disturbed and suspicious again.

_[Come no closer!]_

“Trust me, Lockie. I beg you.” Mycroft showed him his hands. “I won't harm you. Just… trust me.”

And something in his voice made the dragon's heart melt. And he watched the man close the distance between them.

“Please. Lower your head.”

_[Will you bite me? Or hit me?]_

The dragon didn’t add that he would bite his head off then but Mycroft was well aware that he would.

“No, Lockie. I want to kiss you.”

The little man, John, had said the same. And hadn't this girl said it, too?

_[What is a kiss?]_

“It's something nice. It won't hurt.”

And finally the dragon lowered his head, and Mycroft could see his black snout from a very small distance for the first time, the deadly teeth, the long tongue, and he could smell the nasty breath.

And he didn’t hesitate for a moment and pressed his lips on the almost closed, leathery mouth of the dragon, even licked over it with his tongue, and suddenly there was a white light and he was flying backwards and fell hard onto his back.

Feeling dizzy and breathless from the hard landing, he struggled to get up.

And then he heard a voice. “Mycie? My God! What… What happened?”

And the young king was on his feet in an instant and then he hurled the naked, beautiful young prince into his arms and pressed him close, brother holding on to brother, and Mycroft was full of relief, joy, and affection.

*****

Sherlock was clinging to his brother's neck, deeply disturbed and completely confused. What had happened? Where were they? Why wasn't he wearing any clothes? Why did he have such an awful taste in his mouth?

“My Lockie…” Mycroft had pulled back and stroked his face. “You don't remember.” And this was a mercy. But it would be a short mercy as Sherlock would get to know soon enough what had happened during the time he hadn't been human… He let him go just to pick up his soiled coat, draping it over Sherlock's shoulders. He should have brought clothes for him! But then – he hadn't been sure that this would really happen.

But he had made it – his kiss of true love had destroyed the curse and brought his brother back. A brother who was in dire need of rest, a bath, brushing his teeth and getting dressed, and certainly gallons of tea. And Mrs Hudson's famous hot chocolate.

Sherlock was blinking heftily. “No,” he slowly said. “I don't remember anything since… Oh God… I was a dragon?!” It was hardly a difficult deduction. He was standing in front of a dragon's cave! And he remembered this horrible curse!

Mycroft tried to smile soothingly. “Yes. We will talk about it. But for now – let's go home.”

“Our parents must be horrified…”

Mycroft swallowed hard. “Lockie… Our father…”

He understood without any more words, and his eyes filled up with tears. “No… And… You're king now?”

“Yes.”

“How…?” He had not killed his own father, had he? Sherlock could hardly breathe.

“He was very sick. You remember?”

“Yes. But what happened to me… made it worse.”

“Listen to me, little brother – nothing of this is your fault. I… I have more bad news for you and it will be very hard to bear. But it's not your fault. Promise me you won't forget that!”

What had he done? And why had Mycroft come all alone? Sherlock felt his knees weaken but strong arms were holding him up.

“I won't leave you alone, Lockie. Never again. I want you to be at my side forever and ever. In every way.”

It was all too much to process. Sherlock embraced his brother's waist and cried bitter tears of relief and regret and love and grief, and Mycroft was holding him and stroking his hair and promised him everything would be fine.


	4. Chapter 4

### Coming Home

“I can't believe you brought him home…” Violet was hardly able to keep herself up.

Mycroft strengthened his grip around her arm. “Nobody else could have…” He looked at his mother, the implication hanging in the air. If she reacted to the truth that would dawn on her soon enough if not right now in a negative way – well, he was the king, and there was no law against their love anyway… And even if there had been – he'd have rather taken Sherlock's hand and left and lived with him in the bloody cave than giving him up.

But he should have known his mother better. “Oh, Mycie. I should have known. I should have let you go with him that day.”

Mycroft wasn't entirely convinced that he would have been able to do what he had done right at the start. And if Sherlock would have reacted well to it. In the heat of that moment… Despite all the people that had died in the meantime, Mycroft thought it had probably been for the better to wait until today.

Their mother, Greg and Mrs Hudson had welcomed them at the gate. There had been many tears and embraces, and then Mycroft had asked Greg to run a bath for Sherlock and stay with him, as he really didn’t want Sherlock to be left alone now, and he had asked Mrs Hudson to prepare a very good breakfast for him afterwards. Greg had immediately said he would take care of his friend, and he knew his brother in the best of hands with him.

The servants they had passed by had looked at Sherlock with wide eyes and not just a little fear, but they had all bowed to him, and Sherlock had smiled at them through his tears, and Mycroft had been glad to see they were smiling back at him, albeit cautiously and somewhat reverently. Everybody in the castle knew it hadn't been his fault and they had always loved the boy he had been and Mycroft was sure they would love him again. And Sherlock was really feeling guilty enough about the things he had done when he'd had no control over the self he had been.

He would have waited with the bad news, but Sherlock had insisted on hearing them at once when he had calmed down on the mountain. So he knew the dragon he had been had eaten Molly and John and killed Greg's father along with a lot of other people. Of course Sherlock had been inconsolable but Mycroft had reminded him of the simple fact that it had not been him but the dragon a curse had forced him to be, and that nobody would dare accuse him of being a murderer. He wasn’t. His Lockie would have never harmed anyone. But of course it was a very difficult truth to live with and it would take time to heal these wounds.

He would join Sherlock in a minute but he had wanted to talk to his mother first. He wanted her to understand that what had saved Sherlock had not been only the love of a brother. And she did.

“All I have ever wanted for you two was to be happy. He suffered so much, and now he is full of guilt. And if you can make him happy, I'm on your side. I'll always be on your side.”

And Mycroft embraced his mother and thanked her, and then he left her to go to Sherlock's room and get some clothes for him and then look how he was doing.

*****

“I'm so sorry.” He didn’t say it for the first time.

Greg smiled. “As I've told you before, Sherlock, it's all fine. It wasn’t you who did that and you've just defended yourself against the guard.”

“And you kept them from killing me…” Sherlock, sitting in the tub with freshly scrubbed teeth and hair, was shivering even though the water was almost hot. He was still feeling sick about all he'd done. He had… eaten his best friend! And the girl that had tried to save him and who had been like a sister to him all his life… And all the others he had hunted or killed when he had come to the castle. People he'd known! How was he supposed to live with this guilt?

“Of course I did. And I'm so glad you're back. I should have known your brother was the only one who can deliver you from this curse.”

His brother. The beautiful king who had kissed him back into his real life. The man who would help him cope with everything.

Sherlock hadn't had any time to think about it but now he remembered the days when he had realised how handsome his brother was, apart from brave and so smart. How his heart had started to beat faster when they had innocently touched. How strangely new it had felt to put his head onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Back then, only a couple of months ago, he had been an innocent boy who hadn't understood that things had begun to change between them, and now that he had lost all his innocence apart from this special one, he could embrace it. Because Mycroft wanted him, and he would gladly give that last bit of innocence to him.

And Greg didn’t seem to mind…

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered. “For everything.”

“Always, Sherlock. I hope we'll always be friends. You're a good man.” And then he chuckled when Sherlock shot out of the water to embrace him, wet and naked as he was, and he held the lithe body, knowing he would give his life for him and the new king on any given day.

*****

Mycroft entered the bathroom after a knock, having listened to Sherlock's and Greg's conversation – not because he wanted to eavesdrop but to give them this moment – and yes, make sure Greg was really as supportive as he thought he was.

Sherlock was wrapped in a large towel and his eyes were wet.

Mycroft gave him an encouraging smile and put the clothes onto a small table. “If you want, get dressed. And then you should eat something. And after that, I'll sit with you if you don't mind.”

“Mind? I will never let go of you again!” Sherlock's heart had started to beat faster as soon as his brother had come in. He was so handsome and so… _his_. His brother, his best friend, his mentor, his king, his… lover…

He just had to touch his brother, and so he walked over to him and put a hand onto his shoulder, and Mycroft smiled at him.

“I shall leave you alone now,” Greg said, and Mycroft turned to him.

The eyes of the young man, dark and big and serious and full of affection, told him he had very well understood the implications of Mycroft being the one to save Sherlock with true love's kiss, and he accepted it completely.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said softly.

“Anytime. Anything,” Greg answered in the same tone and then he nodded at them and retreated.

The two brothers looked at each other for a long moment, and Mycroft knew if he had wanted, he could have been with Sherlock now. But these things needed time and Sherlock wasn't in the condition to really understand what was going on.

So he just softly kissed Sherlock's cheek. “Soon,” he said with a smile.

Sherlock nodded and started to get dressed. He wasn't hungry but he felt he had to eat something – something for humans – and drink tea. As if it could erase that he had lived from flesh and blood for weeks…

“It's all fine,” Mycroft said, and Sherlock wanted to believe him.

And he needed him so badly, all of him, but this wasn't the right moment.

Soon…

*****

“I'm sorry. I know this is completely insufficient but…”

The old gardener gave Sherlock a sad smile. His wife was standing next to him, her eyes full of tears. “My Prince, it was not your fault. And our Molly knew the risk. She really loved you but… I guess only mutual love can take away such a powerful curse.”

Sherlock knew this was true. If he hadn't loved Mycroft as much as he did, the kiss wouldn’t have worked. And he had loved Molly but not enough and not in the right way. It broke his heart that she had died so young because she had wanted to save him. She would never have children and be happy with a family. As happy as he would now be with Mycroft.

He didn’t know if they would be open about it. They hadn't had time to discuss it. But even if their love would have to bloom in the dark, Sherlock would be fine with it as long as he would never have to leave his brother again.

He had changed. Nobody could be a dragon and do what he had done and not get changed. He might only be sixteen but he was a man now. A man whose eyes looked serious and haunted in the mirror, but he knew that would change. He had done unspeakable things but… as Mycroft had said, they hadn't been his fault. He would learn to live with his past and he was looking forward to a future at his brother's side, as discreet as it would probably be handled. Mycroft had saved him and he would save him from any bad dreams, too. But Sherlock wasn't the boy he had been before all this. He was harder and albeit feeling guilty, he wasn't that vulnerable anymore. He, in opposite of John and Molly and the other people that had been so unfortunate to cross his path, had survived the curse and come out stronger.

“Thank you,” he said to Molly's parents. “Your understanding means a lot to me. I'm glad you haven't left.” Like John's father did. And if Sherlock remembered correctly – and the past weeks were mostly a blur – he had confronted the dragon and had been killed, too…

“This is our home. We have nowhere else to go,” Molly's mother said. She was working as a maid in the castle.

Sherlock pressed her hand. “Then stay forever. Thank you,” he said again, and then he turned to go into his chamber as he was exhausted. He had had breakfast in Mrs Hudson's company, and she had been so understanding and helpful and he had embraced her more than once. He had also spoken to his mother for a long time. They had not mentioned the changed relationship of him and Mycroft, but Sherlock knew she would always support them. Mycroft had kept him company until he had to go for meeting the ministers – he was the king now after all. They had not spoken a lot but they had been holding hands, and Sherlock had watched their entwined fingers in wonder.

It was wonderful to be home again… But now he needed a nap and then he needed his brother.

*****

Mycroft hadn't liked to leave Sherlock alone for his meeting, but his brother had said after breakfast that he wanted to sleep for a while after talking to Molly's parents, and he had seemed calm and stable enough, and Sherlock knew he could always come to him if he needed his support, meeting or not.

Now Mycroft was standing next to his brother's bed, the bed he had never slept a night in in his life. He had always stayed with him, and so it would be in the future. Their rooms were next to each other's and even when the queen had brought Sherlock to his own bed, he would always sneak into Mycroft's.

There was no need for sneaking anymore. Mycroft had decided to be open about their love. People would talk anyway about how he had managed to turn Sherlock back into a human. And their servants, as trustworthy as they were, would talk, too. And they would observe.

And frankly – Mycroft was not willing to hide their love as if it was something horrid and unspeakable as it really wasn’t; it wasn’t even forbidden by law (even though he would have immediately changed the law if it had been). And after being so close to losing Sherlock forever, he would cherish every day they were allowed to spend with each other, and if he felt like kissing his brother, he would do it, regardless of anyone else around.

If Sherlock wanted this at all of course. He had to be prepared for Sherlock deciding he wanted to return to their brotherly relationship from before, and of course Mycroft would accept that. He would still be able to hold him and be close to him, in an innocent way.

He looked down on him, his peacefully sleeping brother. No nightmares seemed to disturb him even though that would have been completely understandable.

But Sherlock seemed to sense his presence as he suddenly opened his eyes. “Mycie!”

Mycroft smiled. “I'm sorry, Lockie, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Come to me.” Sherlock slung his arm around his brother's neck as soon as he had sat down. “Can you stay with me for a while?”

“I will stay with you all day if you want.” He had already told his mother and Greg he didn’t wish to be disturbed, and he had taken care of all important matters for today.

“How about tonight?”

“Tonight you will be sleeping beside me, as you've always done. If you want…”

Sherlock's heart melted at the slight insecurity in his brother's eyes. He thought Sherlock had changed his mind about them being together? No way… “Of course I want that. And now I want you here. With me.” He didn’t speak more plainly but he didn’t have to.

Mycroft felt his cheeks flush. “Are you sure?”

“Lock the door…”

Mycroft swallowed and got up to do so. He had never touched another person intimately. Neither had Sherlock.

But now they would find out what it meant to make love.

### True Love

When their lips met, a crazy idea shot through the king's mind – that if Aunt Malicia had really been, well, malicious, she would have included in her curse that the next kiss of love would turn Sherlock back into a dragon, and for a moment, he feared that would happen, that he would find himself with the beast in bed the next second.

But all he found in his arms was Sherlock, his Lockie, melting into their kiss with soft sighs, and Mycroft finally really understood that the days of fear and a horrible prospect were over. All of Sherlock's life the threat of the curse had been hanging over him, but now that the worst had happened and had been ended, there was nothing else to fear. There had been terrible consequences but if Mycroft was honest, he would gladly sacrifice even more people if the outcome was just Sherlock's return.

He pushed those dark thoughts aside and proceeded to do what he had deep inside longed to do for months – claiming his little brother as his lover.

Sherlock held his breath when he was gently undressed, and long fingers started to explore his soft skin. His body looked exactly like before his dragon-days. Every little scar was there, every mole, and after looking at nasty scales for weeks on end, he felt delighted by the goose bumps that were breaking out under Mycroft's tender ministrations.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock's face every few seconds, making sure his caresses were truly welcome, but Sherlock's quiet moans and leaning into his kisses and touches spoke clearly. And so he finally took it for granted that at least for today Sherlock welcomed him as a lover, and in all his inexperience he did the best to make him feel loved and cherished and appreciated.

Time seemed to stand still while Mycroft was nibbling and kissing at his skin, engulfing his suddenly stiff nipples with the hot wetness of his mouth, and Sherlock felt his arousal grow with every passing second. But he didn’t want this to be so one-sided, so he tore at Mycroft's clothing until his brother was naked as well, half undressing himself, half being freed from any fabric by Sherlock's now impatient hands.

And they were devouring each other with their eyes for a moment until Sherlock couldn’t help but pulling at his brother's large, erect penis, making him moan deep in his throat, and the next moment the tender petting turned into frantic grabbing and hungry touching and greedy kisses, and somehow they ended up on his bed with their heads on each other's crotch, and Sherlock licked and sucked his brother's manhood and had his own treated the same way, and he knew they were both not far away from feeding each other with their intimate essence.

But Sherlock didn’t want it to end like this, even though he knew they would both be ready soon again. He did know a few things about sexuality and he had explored himself a bit – never next to his brother in bed though, and he thought that this was a shame as they would have known much earlier what they were feeling for each other if he'd had… And perhaps Molly and John wouldn’t have had to die then.

John… His best friend who had attacked him. Sherlock had a vague idea why and he knew John had certainly done it for a reason. But he realised now, in probably the most inappropriate of moments, that he felt betrayed by John's wrath against him. It hadn't been his _choice_ to be a man-eating dragon after all…

His pain about his friend's death and behaviour made him finally stop his worshipping of his brother's hot, heavy cock. “Mycie…” he mumbled, and Mycroft stopped at once as well.

“What, Lockie? You don't like it?” He could hardly believe that but perhaps this was way too fast and…

“Of course I like it! But I want you… inside me…”

“No, not today, Lockie. That's definitely too early!”

“Please! I need it!” Sherlock looked upset, and Mycroft hurried to pull him into a tight embrace.

“All right, little brother. If you're sure.”

“Very sure.”

“But if I hurt you, you must tell me. I… I have never done that before.”

“I hope so! I don't want you to do these things with anyone but me! Promise it!”

“That's easy.” Mycroft stroked Sherlock's messy curls. “I don't want anyone else but you. Not now and not ever.”

“Good.” Sherlock freed himself from his embrace and turned his back to him. “Make love to me, Mycie.”

*****

After spoiling each other with their mouths had been already more arousing than Mycroft had ever imagined, moving in Sherlock was even a million times more exciting. He had prepared his brother thoroughly, and then sunk into him inch by inch while holding him in his arms, his face buried in Sherlock's neck.

It burnt, pretty much so, but Sherlock loved every moment of it. Being connected with his beloved brother in the most intimate way possible, being held by him and caressed by his hands and mouth – it was like being in heaven.

After a while he started moving his hips to match Mycroft's rhythm, and it was like a symbol of their relationship.

They had always been an item, always looked and walked into the same direction, side by side, and that's how they were making love now. Neither of them would ever hurt the other one, and Sherlock knew they would go on spending each other as much pleasure as they could. Mycroft had risked his life to save his, and Sherlock would do the same for him anytime. If anyone attempted to harm his brother, Sherlock would become more dangerous than any dragon could be, perhaps even turn himself into a dragon if necessary, just to make sure his brother wouldn’t even suffer so much as a scratch. Greg and his guard would be there to protect him of course, but Sherlock would do the same, being his brother's protector as Mycroft had always been his.

Both were panting now, their bodies slick with sweat, and Mycroft's hand was wrapped around Sherlock's throbbing cock, stroking him in the rhythm of his now deep thrusts, and finally Sherlock let go and came apart, spilling over the caressing hand and the sheets, and Mycroft cried out when his still penetrating penis was deliciously strangled by heftily convulsing muscles, and he released himself into his brother, holding him in an almost too-tight grip that made Sherlock gasp in delight, and eventually they both collapsed against each other.

When Sherlock's brain seemed to function again, he turned in his brother's arms so he faced him, and their lips met for a deep kiss, bare of passion for the moment but full of love and gratitude.

They went on kissing until they were both breathless, and then Mycroft stroked a sweaty curl out of Sherlock's face.

“What do you think, Lockie… Shouldn’t there be a celebration for your lucky return?” He had only had a small one for the people in the castle when he had claimed the throne. But this was the perfect opportunity to introduce himself as the new king to the rulers of their neighbour countries, and to celebrate the victory over this vicious curse, and to show everybody that there was nothing to fear from his beloved little brother, and God may help anyone who dared accuse him of what the dragon had done…

Sherlock grimaced but then he nodded. “Yes, I guess we should. Could be fun. But hey – don't forget the invitation for Aunt Malicia!”

Mycroft stared at him and then they both burst out laughing, and then they kissed again, still giggling, and proceeded to make love again, and they both knew this was, despite the darkness that lay behind them and that had left deep marks, the first happy day of many more to come.

 _The_ _End_

 

 


End file.
